Blake's Mentor
by Battle Bruva Volks
Summary: While fleeing from the White Fang, Blake encounters a 'man' who will guide her down a new path.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is an idea me and a friend, (** **PFCDontKnow) had a while back. Basicly introducing the concept of the Witcher into the RWBYverse if you will. Dom't expect this to have regular updates, as me and PFCDontKnow are rather busy with other projects. Anyways, enjoy!**

Blake Belladonna didn't move for the longest time as the fog swallowed up the rest of the train, hiding the betrayal on Adam's rapidly shrinking face better than any mask. The day had been mild, and the sky clear - a perfect day, really - but still she shivered. This is what she'd wanted, wasn't it? To leave the White Fang behind, to bring an end to the fighting, even if it was only for herself? So why did she feel so...torn?

The White Fang had been her home for as long as she could remember. Their goals, their methods were hers, and she worked towards them gratefully, content in the knowledge that she was furthering the cause of Faunus rights. It felt right. Even after the change in leadership, and in doctrine, that hadn't changed, not for a while. She excused it, as being deserved, as necessary, as justice. But as the White Fang's actions grew more bold, more rampant, her justifications started to sound more and more hollow. She couldn't take it anymore; the cruelty, the indiscriminate violence...the thrill.

The Faunus shivered again. The rush of combat, the pride of knowing she was better, the elation in defeating her enemies through force of arms, their lives hers to decide. It sickened her to think she could take such joy in it, and horrified her how others could be corrupted by it, so bent on causing destruction they sought greater and more terrible methods of it. Was it only a matter of time before she, too, was consumed by the seeming need for conflict?

The painful screech of the brakes broke her from her thoughts. Looking up towards the front of the train, she stood up, not remembering when she'd slumped against one of the tied-down crates on this car. Fear at being found out warred with a desire to see what was going on as she remained rooted in place. Curiosity had barely won and she had barely taken a step forward when the answer leapt up onto the far end of her car.

She blanched at the sight of the leonine body, its fur a liquid black so dense as to seem like the yawning maw of the abyss, a long, prehensile tail flicking leisurely around almost absent-mindedly. Small bone-white spines formed a swept-back ridge along its backbone, separate pairs of larger spines sprouting from its shoulders, and a spike grew from each of its legs, its paws ending in sharp claws several inches long. The ever-present bone-white mask was patterned with red that streaked away from its nose, just underneath its burning red eyes, and a crescent in the center of its head. Long, serrated fangs grew out of the upper portion of its mouth, hanging past its jaw, even as it bared the remainder of its near-unnaturally sharp teeth.

A pack of Beowolves she could handle easily. A few Ursai would pose little problem. But this was a Direcat. Direcats were a notoriously vicious species of Grimm, unbelievably fast and incredibly agile. They possessed a heightened level of animalistic cunning usually found in older Grimm and a worrying habit of sharpening their claws on the Tiger Oak tree, whose sap acted as an anticoagulant. And that was just a single Direcat. And where there was one, there were always more, ranging in prides of anywhere from a dozen upwards.

Praying desperately to Oum that it hadn't noticed her yet, Blake bolted for the trees, just as she heard the Direcat open its mouth and roar. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she watched in growing terror as a dozen of the beasts peeled off from their assault on the engine and came after her. Pouring on as much speed as she could, she tore through Forever Fall.

It still wasn't enough. Only her heightened senses, enhanced even further by the adrenaline and fear pumping through her, gave her enough warning to dodge the swipe with a last-second use of her Semblance that threw herself forward and up far enough away from the Grimm to turn and properly face them, Gambol Shroud clutched so tightly in her hand her knuckles began to turn white. She couldn't run, and she wasn't sure she could beat them. But she had to try.

The Direcats paused as their hated prey turned to face them. The fear rolling off of it was palpable, and yet it still readied itself to fight. The youngest of the pride, in the center, leapt at the prey, roaring as it descended, claws outstretched to rend.

Blake cocked her arm back and threw Gambol Shroud, manipulating the elastic ribbon affixed to it as it fired, the blade arcing through the Direcat's neck, letting it carry onwards for a moment before snapping back the other way, the recoil adding momentum as the point of the sword impaled the skull of a second. Tugging on the ribbon to bring her weapon back to her, she grasped her sheath even as her pistol shifted back into its melee mode, and another Direcat leapt forward, its already-bloodied maw bared in furious challenge.

She jumped, swinging the sharpened edge of Gambol Shroud's sheath around to bite into the Direcat's neck as it landed where she'd been not a moment before. The Grimm yowled in pain and collapsed, even as she landed on one knee and thrust her blade out and up, piercing the roof of a fourth's mouth. A short roar was her only warning before she caught movement on the edge of her vision and she barely manage to block the fifth's swipe.

Blake cried out in pain as what felt like fire tore its way across her back, her Aura - already low after the fight with the Knights, and so much use of her Semblance - finally failing, bloody furrows gouged out by the Direcat's claws. She collapsed hard on her elbows, a look over her shoulders revealing the pair that had flanked her. Weakly, she managed to crawl a short distance away, the Grimm content now to play with their prey.

Her vision was swimming now, her breath starting to come in tired, short gasps. She felt woozy, light-headed. Her elbows gave out on her, the dead foliage on the ground partially obscuring her vision as she lay her head down.

' _I guess…this is it…then…'_ she lamented as her vision blurred and faded even more, the wet warmth of her blood seeping into the clothes on her back. Her ears – both sets of them – barely twitched when the sharp crack like a thunderclap echoed through the clearing, the boneplate on one of the Direcats' head shattering as a half-inch-wide lead ball tore through it.

The remaining Grimm turned as one to stare in the originating direction of the noise, and it took them several moments to determine its source: a humanoid figure a couple hundred meters off, ramming a steel rod down the barrel of a gun. Replacing the rod in a slot under the barrel, he cocked a lever towards the rear of the weapon before taking aim and firing again, the roiling crack drowning out the sharp snap as the boneplate of yet Direcat shattered, the infernal glow of its eyes dimming as it slumped bonelessly to the ground.

The last half-dozen Grimm snarled as they launched themselves at this newcomer, who launched himself forward as well, a flick of his hand shooting an orb of light away from him in a wave, blowing them off balance and impacting the lead Grimm hard enough to snap its neck.

Slinging the rifled musket tight against his back, he removed a sword sheathed in an unadorned red scabbard from the same shoulder. The blade shone like silver as he drew it from the sheath, orange-red runes alighting along the blade and cross-guard. Blake's pain-hazed mind barely registered the figure as he cut down the remaining Direcats with effortless ease, almost as if he were dancing. Her last sight – and thought – was that his eyes seemed to glimmer a familiar cat-yellow from the depths of his hood…

PAIN.

A grating scream tore its way out of her mouth as her eyes tried and failed to open to find out where the PAIN was coming from. She shivered violently as she tried to push herself up, only for a warm hand to press her back down against the soft material that definitely wasn't the forest floor. Her chest felt tight and her back was burning and in painpainsomuchpain. Bleary eyes cracked open just enough to see a small bottle of greenish liquid being held near her mouth.

"Drink," a deep voice rumbled, "You're going into shock."

Blake didn't even try to fight as the figure moved the vial the last inch and began to pour it down her throat. He kept speaking, but his words blurred together in an incoherent mess. She was already fading back into oblivion before the vial was even empty…

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees…"

The crackling of a fire and the chirping of crickets was the first thing Blake's mind registered as consciousness slowly returned. She blinked a few times, clearing her eyes without making any other movements – less out of design to still appear asleep, but because she felt that drained.

"Bats all a-swayin' in the breeze…"

The shattered moon filled her view against the dark expanse of the night sky, the red leaves on the trees at the edges of her vision highlighted by the light of the fire to her right. The cold crispness of the air, the spacing between the trees she could see…Blake wagered she'd been moved higher up out of the valley. But which way; towards the city, or away?

"But one soul lies anxious wide awake…"

The low baritone notes finally registered in the Faunus's exhausted mind as words, and she turned her head to see the singer. It wasn't any song she recognized, and when she would reflect on it later, it sounded like a fairly macabre lullaby.

"Fearing all manner of ghouls hags and wraiths…"

The singer was an older man, maybe in his fifties, with a tanned, weathered face, salt-and-pepper hair cut short, and a close-trimmed beard the same color as his hair. A brown overcoat was worn over an untucked green shirt. A dirty white sash was belted about his waist, above black pants and tall leather boots, and leather fingerless gloves adorned his hands as he watched a small pot that was suspended over the fire.

"For your dolly Polly sleep has flown…"

The song trailed off as slate-grey eyes locked gazes with hazel as he looked up from the pot he was stirring. Without a word, he picked up a wooden bowl beside him on the log he was seated on, ladling what looked like some kind of stew into it.

"You're awake," he stated simply, rising from the log with a smoothness that belied his apparent age. Blake sat up and the soft wool cover she'd been under slipped off her shoulders, her eyes widening slightly as she realized she didn't feel any kind of pain in her back.

"How–" she started to ask before the bowl and a spoon was held out before her.

"Eat," the old man cut her off, "You need your strength, after that debacle."

Blake's cheeks flamed red at the blunt criticism of her fight with the Direcats, shifting from straight embarrassment to awkward humility as he threw over his shoulder,

"Didn't do half bad, though," as he made his way back to his seat. Picking up a thin branch, he began poking at the fire as he asked, "When you're done, you can tell me just what the bloody hell you're doing out here."

Blake tensed for a number of reasons. One was she was trying not to spontaneously inhale the bowl as a veritable wave of hunger crashed against her as she put the first spoonful of stew in her mouth. The other was that his casually-stated question caught her off-guard, which – in retrospect – really shouldn't have.

She swallowed a little too quickly, the stew burning its way down her throat. "I..." her eyes flickered over their surroundings, looking for something anything that could keep her from answering the question. "Where are we?" she decided on.

The look he gave her over the fire revealed exactly how unimpressed he was. "South side of Forever Fall; 'bout six, seven klicks north of Vale proper, as the crow flies. Don't dodge the question, girl."

Blake responded by taking another, more careful, bite of stew. The old man just snorted and went back to poking the fire.

"Alright, I'll play along." Pointing the glowing end of his branch down the valley, he spoke up again. "That was a SDC rail, know that much certain. No man alive foolish enough to try a hijacking way out here; means you weren't after the Dust it was carrying."

Blake tried not to shuffle nervously in her seat on the bedroll as she steadily worked her way through the bowl, eyeing the pot when her spoon scraped bottom. The old man saw the look she was giving it and smirked, holding out his hand for the bowl.

Taking it as she handed it back, he filled it again before passing it to her once more, commenting as he did so, "Means you were making a statement. I'm guessing you an' your boyfriend there were White Fang."

"He's not my boyfriend," Blake responded instantly, embarrassment and a small measure of disgust coloring her cheeks red. Adam was like her brother, for Oum's sake. The look on the old man's face made it blatantly clear he wasn't buying it, but he wasn't going to call her on it.

"The other theory is it's the Kingdoms you got a bone with, an' you were trying to make a quick supply run." Not getting a response from the teenager, he sighed. "Girl, if I'm right about that, you don't need to hide it. I haven't lived in Vale in a long, long time."

Blake hesitated, vacillating between telling him the truth or hiding it, when the full weight of his statement hit her. "Wait, are you saying you live outside the Kingdoms? How are you still alive? Not even the White Fang could survive long in the Wilds!"

The old man smirked smugly, and the air of superiority he momentarily projected more than answered her question. "Some call me Argus, now that we're actually talking to each other," he said, returning to poking the fire.

"Blake," she replied as she finished making her way through a second bowl of stew and starting on a third, "Blake Belladonna."

Several minutes of silence filled the air between them. Blake found herself consumed by her internal thoughts as Argus took the now-empty pot – he'd jumped in to help finish it off – and cleaned it out in a nearby stream. The old hunter came back to find the cat Faunus scraping the spoon idly across the bottom of the bowl, her brow furrowed. Grunting, he threw a couple branches onto the fire as he sat back down on the log.

"You can throw those on the fire," he said, gesturing to the utensils, "I'll carve more if I need 'em." He lapsed back into silence for a moment as she did just that, the both of them watching the carved wood glow and begin to burn. "So what's eatin' you now?"

"I don't know…" Blake mumbled, running her hands up and down her arms, "I just…I'm not…I don't know what to do…"

Argus hummed noncommittally, grabbing a hand-and-a-half sword in a plain red sheath from where it rested by a musket of all things, drawing the silvered blade and removing a whetstone from a pouch on his chest. "I was right earlier, 'bout you being White Fang?" he asked, drawing the whetstone across the blade.

"Was…" the brunette corrected, "I can't go back. Not even if I wanted to. Not after I sabotaged the job."

"Oh?" The scrape of stone over enchanted silver stopped as Argus fully stared at the young woman seated across the fire from him. "And what would bring you to do that?"

"Because…" the Faunus started, "Because I couldn't live with the hatred anymore…because I couldn't help but think that there had to be a better way to be recognized as equals." She stared into the fire unseeing. "Now, I don't know what to think."

"Yeah…" Argus muttered so quietly the Faunus almost missed it, drawing the whetstone across his sword blade again, "I know that feeling all too well…" Louder, he asked, "You scared, girl?"

Blake just nodded, no point in false bravado.

"Clever girl. Overconfidence'll kill you faster than any Grimm." Drawing the whetstone down the blade one last time, the old hunter looked up at the slowly-lightening sky. "Dawn's coming. Think you're up for walking?"

Blake nodded again, rising to her feet with a barely noticeable wobble.

Argus nodded with a grunt, sheathing the sword before slinging both it and the musket over his shoulder. "Best get started. We got a ways to go if we want to reach Caed Tor by nightfall."

They packed up their temporary camp, doused the fire, and moved on. Blake wasn't sure how long they'd been traveling – an hour, at least – when Argus spoke again.

"You wanna make a difference, right?" He looked over his shoulder at her. "Wanna do something with your life, 'stead of just moving through it like a drone?"

Blake nodded. "I want to show people that Faunus can be just as good as Humans; that we're not second-class."

A brief flash of disappointment crossed the older man's face so fast, she was fairly sure she'd imagined it. He nodded and turned back to face the trail. "I got a couple calls to make when we get to Caed Tor, then."

She couldn't help the curiosity. "What for?"

"One's to get you papers into the city," he replied, counting off on his fingers, "Well, two if Brewster's still drunk as a fish." This last was grumbled under his breath. "The other's to get your application into Beacon, seein' as the registration date's already past for the year."

Blake nearly stumbled at that, amber eyes widening. "Beacon?" she sputtered, "Beacon Academy?"

Argus shrugged easily, like he wasn't aware of the hugeness of what he'd just said, though the smile in his eyes gave him away. "I know a gal there. Blonde lady, nice figure, legs for miles."

She almost couldn't believe her ears. "Someone at Beacon Academy owes you a favor." It sounded insane.

"I wouldn't say favor so much as proof of embarrassing indiscretions on her part…"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So people like this? Okay then, here is chapter two!**

The walk through Forever Fall was a peaceful one. Next to no Grimm, and the sounds of the forest. Though, Blake was fairly confident calling it a 'walk' might have been a bit of a misnomer – it was more like a march, the older man on point plodding along at a steady rate that only got more punishing as the day went on and she tired. He didn't seem to notice, not even breathing hard as he hummed to himself to fill the silence, every now and again letting a line or two verbally express itself.

Content with her personal silence, she just watched as cool wind blew through the red-leafed trees, the smell of the ocean just tingling on the edges of her enhanced senses. The trail Argus was leading them on was clearly a well-traveled one, with the remainders of old campsites – long-cold firepits, shell casings, empty Dust containers and brown-tinted bottles that definitely hadn't held water – littered all along its borders. Wherever this "Cade Tour" was, she hoped it wasn't too much further. Aside from the exhaustion from the hike as they ascended further into the mountains, her back had begun to ache, and she was hoping against hope that the warmth running down her back wasn't what she expected it to be.

With a worrying look over her shoulder, and another at the now-setting sun, she finally broke the hours-long silence. "How much further?"

At first, the only sign that he noticed she'd said anything was the cessation of humming. "To Caed Tor? 'Nother half hour," came the reply after a minute, as he came to a stop. He took in their surroundings for a moment, before turning off the trail into the underbrush, "We'll be there afore nightfall, don't worry."

"It's not nightfall I'm worried about," she mumbled, with another worried glance over her shoulder.

Her eyes went wide when Argus grunted in reply, "Aye. We'll get your back looked at, too." How had he heard her? He wasn't a Faunus, his senses couldn't be any better than any other human's…

As she followed him through the trees, though, she couldn't help questioning that. There was something different about him, even from the other (admittedly few) Huntsmen she'd seen. For one, the air of power he gave off seemed more…primal. Less refined than even the aura of self-taught warriors like her. And he looked old for an active monster hunter – he had to be at least fifty, by her estimate, and going by his depiction of events, had plowed through eight Direcats as if they took no more effort than brushing aside a tree branch in his way. What are you hiding… she wondered, eyes fixed on the back of his hood.

Silence fell again, and they moved further up into the mountains, Blake's breath coming in more and more ragged as the heat from her back robbed her of her breath. They stopped a little ways before a treeline – Bake could just see signs of a nearby clearing through the trees – and the older hunter sat her down on a rock. As she caught her breath, he removed another small vial of some clearish liquid. "One swallow," he prescribed, uncorking it and handing it to her.

She could have (and probably did, on reflection) sighed with relief as the pain in her back began to subside after she handed the vial back. "Thank you."

Argus simply nodded as he recorked the bottle and put it back before something occurred to him. "Girl," he started, continuing once he was sure he had her attention, "When we get there, don't tell nobody you want to be a Huntress; or about Beacon, neither. We clear?"

Confused hazel eyes locked with slate-grey. "Why not?"

Argus shook his head as he pulled her to her feet. "Take too long to explain. Just don't, girl."

"Alright…" Within minutes, they'd just about broken the treeline, and could see what she guessed had to be Caed Tor through the trees. Blake wasn't sure just what she'd expected, but it wasn't…this.

"This" was a half-collapsed tower, built partially into the cliffside, holding a commanding view of the valley, and the road leading south towards Vale. A number of tents in various stages of cleanliness and shabbiness were scattered around the tower's base. Figures milled about its base, and scattered lights glowed in some of the windows.

"I thought it'd be…" the Faunus trailed off, trying to come up with a more charitable description than what immediately came to mind. Not that it prevented the veteran hunter from practically reading hers.

"Less of a shithole?" he filled in the blank she'd left with a wry smirk and a chuckle as her face reddened and she looked down. He lifted his hand to pat her on the back; but changed his mind, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze instead. "Come…sunlight's dying."

Indeed, by the time they'd gotten close enough to the tower for her to distinguish identifiable characteristics, the sun had set completely, a waxing crescent moon rising. The shattered side would be visible in about a week. The approach to the tower was flat, and she could see the disturbed mounds of dirt that indicated uprooted trees and the solid shapes of yet-unrooted stumps. And she felt eyes. Eyes watching her, judging her, analyzing her. Unconsciously, her hand crept up towards Gambol Shroud's grip.

"We're being watched…"

"I know," Argus replied reassuringly, "They's just curious is all." He cast a glance over his shoulder and chuckled. "And let your weapon go; you're making them nervous."

" _I'm_ making _them_ nervous?" she grumbled as she reluctantly released her weapon, earning her another chuckle from him.

A figure near the outskirts of the tents called out to them just then. Curiously, she noticed his eyes were glinting a pale yellow, almost as if reflecting the light. "Alright, you two! State your business or I'll–"

Argus rolled his eyes and smirked, yelling back, "Garrius, you ass! It's Argus!"

"You could've let me finish my challenge, at least! Old bastard…"

"I heard that!" Argus called out, grinning good-naturedly, "Show you 'old', you milk-drinking little shit."

"Do you live with these people?" Blake couldn't help but ask.

"Not really. Oy, whelp, how drunk Brewster be?" Argus asked as they passed the sentry.

"He just came back from hunting some Ursai," came the easy reply, his eyes already turned back to scanning the treeline, "You hurry, you might catch him before his second bottle."

With an acknowledging grunt, Argus patted him on the shoulder.

"Oh, by the way…" Garrius threw over his shoulder as they started to move through the tent city, "You missed out, old man; the Solstice was a riot."

Blake found herself following closer behind Argus as they made their way to the base of the tower, the weirdly reflective eyes of the gathered hunters watching her with almost palpable suspicion. Argus pushed open the sturdy iron door with ease, bright yellow-orange light spilling out and making her blink as she stepped through.

What really got her, more than the tavern-like appearance she had – and yet hadn't – been expecting, was the smell: a strange combination of sweat, leather, weapon oil, and smoke that almost seemed to reinforce the step into the past she'd apparently taken.

The room was littered with rough-hewn wooden tables, two particularly large ones set up against the tower's walls in what was evidently a weapons- and gunsmithing area, judging by the tools and scraps littered about it. She could see about twenty people at the tables, all of them armed with multiple weapons; from pikes to poniards, swords to scythes – if it cut, slashed, or stabbed, it was there.

Most of the crowd was turned toward the center, where a young man around her age stood on a table, head bent back as he chugged a bottle of some kind to enthusiastic chanting. Some kind of strange duster shrouded his form, leather and chainmail pads sewn onto the shoulders, and leather spiked bracers strapped to his forearms. With a raucous cheer from his audience, his head came upright as he raised the empty bottle and threw it against the floor in a victorious smash.

' _This must be Brewster,'_ she thought to herself. Almost as if he'd heard her thoughts, Blake felt his eyes lock onto her and Argus, blood-red irises shining out of an olive-skinned face, a mane of unkempt black hair spilling down to his shoulders as the lamp light caught on the silver snake-head medallion caught between his grinning teeth. At once, the grin on his face split even wider as he released the medallion to thump against the leather of his coat with a joyous cry.

"Master!" He dropped off the table as they made their way over, the little crowd dispersing back to their own tables and drinks. "You missed the Solstice!" A measure of suave assuredness replaced the exuberance in his tone as he looked at her. "And who is this pretty little thing?" He asked, felinoid pupils running over her in what felt distinctly more like a threat assessment than being checked out, "My replacement? Does this mean I'm almost finished with the Trials?"

The incongruity of Argus stopping to pull a chair out from the table for Blake stunned her just enough that she missed her chance to ask what that meant before he replied while pushing her chair back after she'd sat down, a slight wince working across her face as her back twinged.

"No, she's not; yes, you are." His answers were quick and succinct as the two males took their seats, Argus flipping his around so he leaned forward against its back. It didn't escape her notice that he'd seated himself with easy sight on the door, without being immediately visible from it. "Right now, I need your...other skills."

The young man's eyes widened with not-quite-glee as he leaned forward in his seat, still grinning. "What am I moving where, and why the naughty way?"

Argus's only move was a subtle nod to the faunus beside him. "Her, to Vale. I'll tell you why when there ain't so many ears about."

"She's not gonna be stopped at the gates for being Faunus, master, this isn't Atlas." Brewster stated with dry humor that made her heart skip a beat. ' _How had he known she was faunus? Was it that obvious?'_ "What's the catch?"

"'White Fang' is all I'll say with this crowd."

His hands gripped the edge of the table hard as he leaned even further in, all humor draining from his face faster than he'd drained the bottle earlier. "The White Fang?! Are you crazy?!" he hissed, "I don't want anything to do with those whack-jobs!"

"Neither do I," Blake surprised herself by responding, "I want out. You can help me get out."

The dark-haired young man's eyebrows shot up as he released his death grip on the table. "Well...now you have my attention." His eyes flickered over to Argus, as if to ask Is she for real?

He leaned back in his seat with easy confidence as the older hunter nodded silently, raising a hand to flag down what was probably whoever managed the tower. "Brewster's the name; the Wilds are my playground, and the grimm are my toys." His smirk grew bigger as he launched into what was probably a preplanned introduction. "Though I wouldn't say 'no' if you asked me to play," he added flirtatiously, winking at her.

The faunus gave the smuggler an unimpressed look as she extended a hand. "Blake Belladonna."

After shaking her hand, Brewster took the dark bottle and three small glasses from the hands of the older woman who brought them over, before pulling a different bottle out of his duster. "Now then, Blake Belladonna," he began, pouring a little of the bottle's clear liquid into the glasses, "Why does an ex-terrorist, such as yourself, want to get into Vale? Looking for a nice party? Family?" He paused to slip the bottle back into his pocket. "A good high?"

Argus intercepted the glass the younger male was holding out to Blake. "I keep telling you, I'll say when we be less accompanied," he stated before knocking back the glass all at once.

Said young man just sighed as his master reached out and snatched one of the other of the glasses on the table. "I'm guessing my payment will be the warm-and-fuzzies for helping my teacher out with a special job, then," he drawled, sipping his own glass.

"Be grateful I'm not making you do it as punishment for near giving my ward alcohol poisoning," Argus grumbled over the rim of his own glass, "This shit's toxic."

"Oh, come on!" Brewster whined, "At the worst, she would've blacked out!" Finishing his drink, off, he opened the bottle that had originally been brought over and poured himself another drink. "So, is it just our Ms. Blake on this run?" He asked, getting back to business, "You're not coming on this one?"

"Oh, no, I'll be there," Argus corrected, sliding his now-empty glass over for Brewster to refill, "Need to have words with someone 'fore you get there; also 'bout time I restocked, too."

"Okay, now I know you have girl in there," Brewster pouted dejectedly as he pushed his mentor's refilled glass back, "Why won't you just tell me who she is? I'm dying to know!"

"If your liver don't give out on you first. Ain't for me, anyways; it's for her," Argus replied, nodding slightly at Blake, who just looked on, slightly lost, and trying to ignore how her back felt uncomfortably itchy and sticky.

Brewster suddenly turned towards Blake, his hands clasped in front of him as he leaned towards her, as if begging. "Whatever you did to win this old man's sympathy, tell me, please. I need it," he simpered in an overly dramatic tone.

Blake gave him a teasing smirk. Brewster was definitely an easy person to get along with, in spite of his roughness. "Sorry, that's private." She couldn't help wondering that herself, though. ' _Why is he doing all this for me?'_

With fake sob, Brewster collapsed on the table, before pulling himself upright, an unpleasant expression on his face, as if he'd bitten into something sour. "Ah, right. master, there's a pair of Atlesians looking for you. They're pissed."

Argus grunted as he lifted his glass for a drink. "Surprise, surprise."

"But not the normal pissed;" his student added, "they've been here for almost a month now." He took a drink from his own glass. "I'd give you maybe five minutes before they get off their broody arses."

"What they be after?" Argus asked his student.

Brewster shrugged. "Info, and maybe a job. Wouldn't say much else."

"Uptight bastards haven't bothered him yet?" Blake started at the unknown voice that popped up suddenly, the speaker seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Brewster's face lit up as he took a look at the new arrival. "Ry! You're back early," he greeted cheerfully, kicking out a chair from the table for them to sit, and snagging a fourth glass from a nearby table.

Taking the seat, the figure lowered the green hood that had hidden her face. She looked only a couple years older than the faunus girl, beautiful porcelain skin marred only by a ropey scar running from the right side of her forehead to her nose, and long silver hair pulled into a braid falling over her shoulder.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Client overestimated how big the nest was. Not complaining; he overpaid, too," she added, an amused grin on her face. Argus and Brewster both chuckled themselves. A light clunk from the broadsword strapped to her back tapping against the chair hovered at the edge of hearing as she shifted to face the raven-haired girl. "Who's the new girl?"

Blue ice like eyes looked at her. There was something eerily familiar about that gaze, even as something seemed uncomfortably off about it. She held out her hand again. "Blake Belladonna," she introduced herself once again.

After a moment, the older girl took her hand and pumped it once. Her hand was heavily scarred, as if it had been burned. "Ry. Don't remember what it's short for." Turning back to the others, she took a sip of her now-filled glass before speaking again. "What're you doing?"

"Apparently, I'm smuggling a former terrorist to Vale," Brewster answered easily, before gesturing to Argus, "and he's off to visit his super-secret girlfriend."

Ry turned to Argus with a look that asked ' _No, really, what's going on?'_

Argus just rolled his eyes and took a drink of his own. "Aye, that's about the rough of it."

The silver-haired girl just sighed before taking another drink. "Incoming," she grumbled after a quiet moment, a sour look on her face.

Blake was about to ask what she meant when she spotted the two giants walking up to their table. And giants they were, they had to have been about a foot taller than anyone else in the building, each of them with a pair of swords strapped to their backs, beneath a number of animal furs that covered sections of the full plate armor they wore. The younger of the two – though he couldn't be younger by much – stared fixedly at Blake, who shuddered nervously beneath his glowing yellow stare.

"Argus," the one closer to the table – the 'older' one – spoke, "You're a hard man to find."

Argus didn't even turn to face them as he finished his drink and grabbed the bottle to refill his glass. "Nice to hear I ain't getting sloppy in my old age," he stated levelly. Taking a drink he looked at Blake. "Ry, my ward here–" a deaf man would've heard the emphasis he put on the words 'my ward' "–got injured earlier. Go take a look at her, would you kindly." It wasn't a request.

With a nod, the older female knocked back the rest of her glass and stood. "C'mon, girl; go get those stitched up proper," she ordered Blake, not unkindly.

Almost as they'd left the room, she heard the younger Atlesian speak up, his voice almost drowned out by the tavern's ambient noise. "Your ward wields a chain scythe, old man. I've seen few who wield them, and all of them Huntresses."

' _What's that supposed to mean?'_ Blake thought to herself, ' _He was speaking as if he wasn't a Huntsman himself.'_

Argus's tone was a blatant ' _Drop it, or I drop you.'_ , as he replied, "Guess I've just a soft spot for kids and broken things."

They stepped into a torch-lit tunnel, the sound level dropping noticeably when Ry closed the door leading to the common room.

"Don't mind 'em," she reassured the younger girl, "Atlesians don't play well with anybody." With a gesture, she began to lead her deeper into the tunnel, and – Blake guessed – deeper into the cliff.

"Aren't...you Atlesian, as well?" she asked hesitantly, watching as the torchlight flickered off Ry's silver hair, so similar to that of the giant men out in the common room.

"Don't remember," came the reply, in the exact same Drop it tone Argus had used.

Blake let it drop, though she was burning with curiosity at what those two words revealed. She was in no position to pry. Ry stopped in front of a wooden door, fishing a small metal key out of a pocket. "Here we are."

"You're a medic?" Blake asked as she entered the small room behind Ry. The idea wasn't new to the Faunus girl; even before the...shift in strategy, there'd been a number of faunus who'd taught themselves how to heal, when people started to get hurt during protests.

Ry just grunted in acknowledgment. "Closest thing to. Don't worry, room's clean." She frowned, picking up a plate of half-eaten moldy food, dumping it into a small wastebasket by the door. "Mostly."

The room was fairly spartan; a bed in the corner, next to it a desk and lantern, and the aforementioned wastebasket. An unopened book sat on the desk next to a pen, a silver dagger, and a small handful of other knick-knacks.

With a nod at the bed, Ry set about rooting through a large pack at its foot. "Strip and lay on your front. Shouldn't take too long."

With a nervous swallow, Blake did as she was told, shivering a little at the chill feeling of the unused bed on her stomach and forearms. She couldn't help but feel a little exposed, half-dressed and alone in a room with an almost total stranger. A hand gently pressed down on her shoulder, and she lay completely flat on the bed – firm, but still softer than some of the surfaces she'd slept on before.

She almost jumped when she felt something thin and cold slide up her side, underneath the bandages. A soft, short tearing sound and the bandage's resulting slackness revealed the object to be a blade, and she was suddenly very glad she hadn't moved.

Smooth movements pulled the bandages off of her, and she shivered again as cool air blew over her wounded back, and the cold mattress pressed up against her bare chest. With her head turned to the side, she could see the older woman place two ceramic jars on the desk, a rag, a thin needle, and – Blake took a tiny sniff – catgut.

Ry must've seen the look on her patient's face, because she smirked as she maneuvered the chair around. "Don't worry, it's not actually made of cat. Actually short for 'cattle', believe it or not."

Blake felt her face heat up. Could everyone tell she was Faunus in spite of the bow?

Still smirking, the silver-haired medic leaned over the younger girl's back and started...sniffing?

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for rot," came the nonchalant reply, as if it was something totally normal, "Argus cleaned them alright; could sew them up as is." Leaning back, Ry plucked up the rag, and dabbed it in one of the jars, folding it in her hands and rubbing it to spread the concoction around. "Still gonna disinfect them, just to be safe."

Blake gave a small hiss as Ry started gently stroking the rag across her back. She'd been expecting it, but that didn't change the fact that the disinfectant stung.

"You're lucky you got hit where you did," the older girl admitted as she wiped the Faunus girl's back down, "Inch lower, they'd've got your spine for sure."

Blake just hummed in agreement. Indeed, she'd been very lucky, and not just with the Direcats. Argus...almost seemed too good to be true. Who just...took in an admitted (former) terrorist, offered them food and shelter, healed their wounds, planned to sneak them into a Safe Haven, arranged for them to attend a Hunter's Academy? What did he get out of this?

"Alright," Ry's voice pulled her from her thoughts as she watched her put both the rag and jar back on the desk and pick up the needle and catgut, "About to start stitching." Reaching down by her feet, she handed Blake a flask. "Drink."

"What is it?" she asked, uncapping it and taking an experimental sniff. Vanilla? What?

"Painkiller," Ry answered with a cryptic smirk.

Raising herself up slightly to make it less awkward to drink, she took a cautious swig, and almost immediately started coughing as it burned its way down her tongue and throat. She felt her eyes watering as she tried to get her breath back.

"Wha-what ki-kind of painki-killer is that?"

"The best kind," Ry responded with a grin, "Drink up. Don't cough, you'll mess up the stitches."

Without further ado, the huntress leaned back over, and Blake took another drink as a lance of fire speared through her back. Now that she knew what to expect, the burn wasn't so bad. She kept drinking until the fire stopped lancing up her back.

By the time Ry had finished stitching her up, Blake was definitely aware that the flask hadn't really been holding pain medicine. Not that she really cared at that point, she was feeling pretty fuzzy all over. Definitely some kind of alcohol, though. Her head felt thick; she decided she didn't really care. It was actually kind of comfortable, in a weird, detached sort of way. She didn't have to worry about anything like this. Her past didn't matter, her future would take care of itself, she had a roof overhead, and her back felt a lot better. She wasn't sure just how much better, but it was a pretty big number.

Ry took the (empty) flask back after getting Blake to sit up and re-bandaging her. She said something about eating. At least, that's what Blake assumed she said, she thought she'd heard something about "cook", "edible", and "expect the best".

Oh, and she told her not to get up. That was important, because Ry had told her twice.

Blake spent a moment looking for her shirt, only to find it already in her hands. Then it took her a couple of moments to figure out how to put it on, at which point she was getting fed up with the stupid thing. Clothes were stupid.

Something shiny on the desk grabbed her eyes, and she looked up to see lamplight flickering off the dagger on the desk. It shone like silver, as it lay there. Why was it silver, though? It occurred to her then that Argus's sword was silver, too. And so was the...everything in the common room, too. Well, most of the everything, anyway. At least half of the weapons, she was pretty sure. Why was that? She'd ask Ry when she came back.

"Ask me what? And your shirt's on backwards."

Blake's head whipped to the door as it opened and the silver-haired girl came back in, bearing the most beautiful smell in the history of ever, instantly driving out whatever her question had been. It could wait, there was fish to eat.

"That answers that question." The older girl sounded amused. "Dmitri caught a school of the bloody things upstream."

Details, details, now give her the fish. Still smirking, Ry took her seat, and the two dug into the gift from the heavens. Blake ate most of the fish, leaving the evil, evil potatoes to be eaten by an increasingly amused Ry. After they finished, Blake felt increasingly tempted to just fall down on the bed and go to sleep. She was warm, her belly was full of food, and her head was still pleasantly fuzzy. She wondered if Ry would let her sleep on her bed...

"Go for it. You look like you could use it."

Oh, but then Ry wouldn't have anywhere to sleep...she didn't want to make her sleep on the floor. It didn't look sanitary.

"Don't worry about me," Ry said dismissively, "Don't need much sleep. If I need to, I'll use the chair."

Well, wasn't that nice...a human was letting her share their space. That didn't happen often. A last-second realization had her jolting up a little as she realized why the girl was so familiar. She looked like that Atlas brat! The...Shi-nee brat. Weiss.

"Weiss Schnee?"

That one, the heiress! Yeah, she looked like a really, really tall...really, really muscular...Weiss. But not as bratty. At all.

"Sure. If you say so."

She did say so. Or did she just think it...

"Okay, time to sleep now," Ry chuckled, effortlessly picking up the feline Faunus and laying her down in the bed.

As she drifted off, it occurred to her that her internal monologue might not have been entirely internal...

"That's for sure," Ry chuckled from her seat at the desk.


End file.
